A Grasping Hold
by Splintered Star
Summary: Their children left them between one blink and the next. Sometimes they were not sure who came back. (A.K.A. What to do when you child comes home with someone else in their head.)
1. Meeting Roxas

He acts like nothing's changed, but sometimes when the sun hits his hair and makes it shade gold, Sora looks like a stranger.

She sits up late, some nights, when the storms come close and she finds herself sneaking past Sora's room to make sure he's still there. The fourth time she does it in one night, even after the storm has passed, she sighs, acknowledges that she won't be getting any more sleep tonight, and makes herself a cup of tea.

Sora was gone for so long, so long and she… forgot, somehow, or everyone forgot but she knew she had forgotten, knew it like an ache in the bottom of her heart. Then when she remembered she knew it, but no one else realized anything had been wrong at all. Maybe she had just…

There's a sudden sound of footsteps from upstairs – she jolts, because that doesn't sound like Sora coming down the stairs-

Past sunset there's no justification for the gold streaks in his hair, and there was no wind to shift his spikes, though he had just woken up so maybe –

-but that half moment of suspicion that looked so out of place on Sora's face –

"Sorry, I didn't know you were up," he mumbles, and Sora never mumbles, never walks so quietly, thudding steps and laughter ringing, but he's shifting away so she swallows down sickness and says,

"Just having some tea." She swallows down "what's wrong" and "who are you" and says instead, "Would you like some?"

The pause before a response is new too, like he's expecting a trap or a joke – if it weren't for his height she might think she was dealing with Riku instead – and that thought, too, is bitter, but this boy steps closer with a half-hidden frailty in blue eyes and says, "Sure."

She stands to make another cup, and her back prickles where the boy's gaze lingers, watching her movements. Riku does that too now, really has done it for years, but this is the first time she wonders which one learned it first.

Riku has always been sharp and strange, even as he's so much worse now, and maybe it's the fact that Sora is her son that made her never see it before –

-but it isn't all the time, just occasional moments when she doesn't recognize her son, like right now as he hesitates before reaching for a mug as if he doesn't quite remember where they are.

The kettle is still warm but she heats it up again anyway, before taking the mug from Sora with a tired smile. The boy fidgets but it's nervous and not eager, and stares at the simple process of making tea with fascination, like he's heard of it before but never seen it.

She bites the inside of her lip as she smiles, handing him a steaming cup of tea – and blinking as he sniffs it hesitantly, sips it far sooner than he should, and then jerks back, his tongue out because he's obviously burned it. It's a sight she hasn't seen since he was a child drinking tea for the first time and it's as comic as it is tragic. The boy glares at the tea suspiciously, then blows on it.

She sits at the table again, and Sora shifts awkwardly before settling at the table across from her. He doesn't speak, not even to ask why she's up, and the silence is unnatural from Sora. She breaks the silence that should already be broken and asks, "Why are you awake? Did you have a nightmare?"

"Huh?" He jerks up from his contemplation of his mug of tea. "No, I just…" His mouth twists down, and he shrugs. "I like looking at the stars, sometimes."

- and that makes her mouth tighten a little bit, memories rushing over each other with the smell of salt and the rock a boat and the heat of a body next to her. "Your father and I did that, sometimes," She says, and the surprise and confusion in his eyes make her heart clench a little, enough to keep her talking. "We would take a boat out in the harbor at night to get away from the city lights." She pauses, and looks at him before adding, "I could take out, sometime. If you want."

The boy blinks, once, a sort of wary hope in his eyes. It's both heartbreaking and encouraging - it feels like a connection, a way back into her son's life after he came back recarved, rearranged and didn't fit into the world the same way. She's never had to try to connect with Sora before because Sora connected with everyone, his affection and cheer staining everything like the sunrise, his heart given easily and claiming hearts in return.

The boy swallows and says, "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good." She sips the last of her tea to cover her expression. "It's too late tonight, but there's a new moon in a week or so. We can go then."

Sora's smile is hesitant and snow-fragile and totally unfamiliar on Sora's face, but it's enough to ease her heart. So she finishes her tea and stands, pats the boy on his shoulder and there's only a tiny moment of hesitation about leaving a stranger in her house before she says,

"Good night, Sora."

The next morning Sora bounds down from his room and grins, waving and shouting "I love you gotta go bye!" as he rushes out the front door to meet Riku and Kairi for school.

She watches him and frowns. But she doesn't mention it, doesn't call him back, because nights are different, quiet unfamiliar times. And besides, Sora's already around the street corner.

The boat rocks under them, the sunset glittering its last rays against the ocean. Sora is too still in the boat next to her, staring at the sunset instead of batting at fish or laughing at the birds that swoop too close to his hair. His expression turns soft and sad as the sunset turns his hair gold and then red-gold.

She swallows down the questions and points out the first star in the sky. It's one of the brightest in the sky, lingering close to the top of the sky at all times. "That's the loadstar," she says, "Sailors use it to navigate." Sora should know this, should have learned it at some point - maybe his father forgot to tell him, and after...

Sora tilts his head up and stares at it. "What's that one?" He points to another early bright star near the horizon.

"The seabird." Sora blinks at her, confused at the name, "It moves across the horizon through the year." Things he should know, stories he should remember, but maybe their tale of amnesia holds some water - or maybe - so she tells them again, pointing as stars as they appear, giving them names and telling the stories she can remember - the sky ship and its anchor, the scales, the sea serpent. The boy listens intently, like he hasn't since he was a child, like he's never heard the stories before. Maybe he hasn't.

It's a new moon, which is why she chose tonight - the sea and the sky are dark but for the stars above them, but the boy beside her seems to glow, very faintly in the gloom. His eyes are bright blue and his hair is gold, too gold.

She'd wondered - but perhaps the truth is stranger - or -

She looks up at the stars, the familiar backdrop of her life. Her father had taught the stories to her, and she and her then-boyfriend snuggled in a boat and compared versions and laughingly argued which one had it right. There seems to be more stars, now, than there used to be. She's not sure of much these days.

She thinks about asking, about sounding insane - but it's what she's thought, ever since he came back, every since he walked through her door with sun-shaded hair. It's late and Sora is a vivid dreamer - she can pretend, later, that it never happened. Let him see how it feels, she thinks spitefully and then regrets it. Still, the words tumble out like the surf on the shore.

"You're not Sora."

Her jerks - but no denial or confusion tumble out. Instead he sighs and folds into himself, crosses his arms over his knees and mumbles, "Is it that obvious?"

She blinks - and for a half second over laid Sora's familiar body is another boy, similar in face and form but in white and black, blond hair in a sweep of spikes like waves against rock. He looks up at her, and really, that expression doesn't look like Sora at all.

She swallows back how and why for now, and asks - "Where is Sora?" Because if... whatever this is had killed her child, stolen his face for some reason...

"Asleep." That - isn't the answer she expected. "He said I could have tonight." His expression turned bitter, so strange on Sora's face. "He lets me have the nights, usually."

She blinks - oh. Oh. "You're both..."

Sora - or whomever - shrugs. "While he was gone, he got... splintered." He recoils into himself again, his glow dimming. "I broke off. Or something. We're... not really sure how it happened."

She forgot her son's name and his face, his whole existence, once. She has no right to comment, to disbelieve him. She's not sure what's possible or not anymore. So she just nods once to herself, and asks instead,

"Do you have your own name?"

The boy blinks black, and that brush of wariness again crosses his expression. "...Roxas." He says, and after a pause he awkwardly offers his hand, like he knows that's what people are supposed to do when introducing themselves but hasn't had much practice.

"Roxas." She takes his hand. There are rough callouses on the fingertips that she'd never noticed before. Maybe Sora has them as well. "You are a part of Sora." He nods. "I suppose that makes me your mother?"

-and the shocked glitter of tears in his eyes is enough to confirm it, because he's a part of Sora and that's what matters, so she lets go of his hand and hugs him instead, making the boat rock beneath them. He's a bit stiff, but his arms wrap around her awkwardly anyway.

"Home?"

He half smiles. "Okay."


	2. Meeting Namine

Light snuck into the kitchen slowly, unnoticed over his cooling tea. He sighed, because the world was different now, and his daughter Kairi had always been strange and perceptive, from the day he found her –

-but she moved differently now, and maybe it was joy at her best friends returning or maybe it was young love, or maybe it was her own time spent gone – but sometimes she went too still, too quiet and she would smile like she didn't quite recognize him.

A sound from the living room made him jerk his head up, but it was too early for Kairi to be up on a weekend. He straightened, alarmed, because Sora would be louder, knocking on the front door with a wide smile and Riku, he was starting to realize, wouldn't be heard at all. He still didn't know which one of those boys was dating his daughter and was starting to have the sneaking, terrified suspicion that maybe, it was both.

He slipped out of his chair. Most morning he'd already be there, watching the sunrise from the tall windows, but he'd lingered over his tea and contemplation.

He stopped in the doorway and blinked, because for half a second he hadn't recognized his own daughter with the sunrise turning her hair gold like that, but it was gone in the next moment.

She turned suddenly and colored pencils clattered on the floor. "Oh," and there it was again, or maybe it was the glare of the sunrise that made her look like a stranger, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were up."

"It's okay," he said, edging closer, "I'm usually up this early." Kairi knew that, or at least he thought she had.

She had pad of paper in her lap, and from where he stood he could see the smear of color that was the Island's sunrise. His breath caught, for a second, because glancing at it was enough to put the sun in his eyes and the taste of dew and sea-salt in his mouth as memory slammed into his mind –

-sitting on the beach with her mother, young and in love , blinded by love and the sunrise –

She clutched the paper to her chest for a moment. He blinked away the memories – hadn't thought of that morning in years – and knelt to pick up a pencil that had rolled near his foot. It was bright red and long, barely used. He handed it to her, smiling, feeling a bit like he was coaxing a shy kitten. "The tip broke when it fell, I'm sorry."

She took it hesitantly, rubbing her fingers over the tip. "It's okay. I didn't need a sharp point." She set the pencil on the nearby table, but didn't start drawing again.

"It's beautiful," he said, because she was his daughter and because it was true, a smear of purple-red fading into pink fading into blue over the ocean. "I didn't know you drew."

She looked down – shy, so shy, he almost didn't believe it was his daughter – and brushed her fingers over the beach, frowning before picking up a yellow pencil and fading the sand a little bit more gold. "Thank you…" She bit her lip, "It's… new." She finally said, smiling apologetically, "I'm not very good yet."

"Nonsense," to both perhaps, because she worked easily and confidently, shading in a patch of green scrub almost without looking, "It looks amazing. " Maybe it was a father's pride but not entirely, and she blushed. "I'll let you finish, then." He patted her shoulder, and left her in the sunrise with a fragile surprised smile on her face.

He had a meeting on the mainland the next day, so he left early enough that he didn't catch her. He stayed on the mainland a while afterwards, searching through the shops. It'd been a while since he'd brought anything back for Kairi – a while since she'd asked for anything, which may have conveniently coincided with her being old enough to go herself.

But something in yesterday morning – something in her spiderweb-fragile smile, in her surprise – made him wander through an art store. He didn't have the slightest idea what he's looking for, a new set of colored pencils maybe, but stopped in front of the sketchbooks and thought, yes.

Levels of quality were a mystery, and prices had stopped making sense the moment he walked in – a tube of paint cost how much? – but between his guesses and the assistance of a nearby customer, who thought him buying something for his daughter was adorable, he managed to go home with something reasonable tucked under his arm.

Kairi blinked at him when he held it out for her, but then she smiled, blindingly bright as always, and bowed her thanks. The strange quiet shyness was gone and she was just his daughter again, no more unusual than she had always been, since the day he found her asleep on the beach.

He didn't see her use the sketchpad for another week, though.

He finished his tea and rinsed out the cup. He slipped into the living room – and paused in the doorway, smiling, because Kairi was already there, looking out the window, her sketchpad in her lap. She stopped and glanced up – but he smiled at her and said, "Don't mind me, I'll stay out of your view."

He settled on his reading bench – not his favorite spot to spend the sunrise, but it was, as promised, out of her view of the beach. She smiled at him, strange and almost sad, before putting her pencil back to paper.

Sunrise had always been his time of medication and relaxation, but the addition of Kairi drawing somehow didn't make it any less peaceful, his daughter as quiet as a shadow. When the sun was up properly she set her pencil down let him see the picture – the beach in shades of grey and black, and the beginnings of a group of figures in the center – he counted in his head, one two three, four five six. If it had just been three he might have frowned, but six was okay.

So he just said, "It's lovely," and left for work.

They shared more silent mornings, Kairi sketching or coloring as he drank his tea and relaxed. He watched the sketch of the beach grow deeper, richer – but of the figures on the beach, only three gained any detail, Sora's spikes and the sweep of Riku's shoulders and Kairi's smile. The other three remained indistinct, and when he looked closer those faint spikes didn't really look like Wakka at all. It made him frown, but this felt like a delicate peace, and questions about the intentions of those boys would just ruin it.

Then one morning he found her already up, waiting up for him – and her skin was paler and her hair was blonder in the morning sun. She tugged on her shirt sleeves as she said,

"We need to tell you something."

"We?" He glanced around for Riku, because he would have noticed Sora and they were the only "we" that Kairi had ever meant.

"No, not them." She said, though she was smiling. "It's…" She was quiet for a moment, head tilted like she was listening to something. "There are bits I can't tell you yet, but, we wanted to explain." She swallowed. "You didn't know that I draw? Well, I don't." He blinked – and in that half second his daughter was overlaid with another girl, white blonde and pale and washed out blue eyes – and her voice changed when she said, "I do."

….what?

Her voice shifted again, and with it her posture. "We don't really know how it happened," Kairi said, bashful almost, "And there are a lot of things we can't explain, not without talking to the boys first…" Her posture shifted again, and suddenly he realized that her hair wasn't changing with the sunlight but from something else entirely. "But… you thought I was her." She met his eyes and maybe the bright steel in her eyes wasn't so different after all. Quieter, but the same. "You bought a sketchbook for your daughter, not for me."

….he blinked, and then stood. "I need some tea. Would you like some?" She slowly nodded. He set the tea kettle up automatically, picked a flavor of tea blindly. As the tea began to steep, he said, testing out the idea in his mind, "So there are… two of you, in there?" Two girls in his daughter. Or only one was his daughter, but, he wasn't sure he believed that.

She took the tea from him quietly, and nodded. "….my name is Namine."

He sat down and sipped his tea, swallowing down the insanity. "Okay." How or why or what – but nothing made sense anymore, and this was just another shade of crazy, and at least, at least she was talking now.

She smiled at him, shy and grateful, and maybe that was enough.


End file.
